


A Whole Suit of Armour

by pollybat



Category: Inspector Lynley - All Media Types, Inspector Lynley Mysteries (TV)
Genre: Banter, Case Fic, D/s overtones, F/M, Friendship, UST, mutual dependency, seriously though a lot of UST, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1662686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollybat/pseuds/pollybat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three bodies have been discovered at Thrushcross Couples Therapy Resort. The police suspect a serial killer and Detectives Havers and Lynley must go (reluctantly) undercover as a couple. </p><p>Can they find the perpetrator before another person is killed? And can their relationship survive the colossal sexual tension and the knowledge that a murderer, unseen, unknown and presumably unbalanced lurks behind one of the smiling faces of the resort's residents?</p><p>Warnings: Excessive banter, codependency and D/s overtones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the very short beginning of what I hope will be a very long journey full of tension (sexual, plot-based and general), and a healthy dose of humour and angst. 
> 
> This fanfic is based almost exclusively on the television show, with the occasional nod towards the books. 
> 
> Just about everything belongs to either Elizabeth George or PBS, or both.
> 
> If you're wondering, the name of the resort is a reference to Wuthering Heights. What literary characters are more in need of couples therapy than Cathy and Heathcliff?

 “Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up."

\- Neil Gaiman

 

* * *

 

Webberly puffed his cigar, savouring the rich smoke and staring out of the rain-spattered window. He watched with amusement as Detective Sergeant Havers jogged towards the entrance of the Met, arms held over her head in an awkward and ineffectual attempt to ward off the rain. A knock on the door turned his head.

“Come in!” he called, moving towards his desk. He glanced at the photograph of his wife, framed in cheap pine, colours muted by dusty glass, and tried to ignore the ensuing twist of guilt. When was the last time he’d had dinner with her? Not more than a month ago, surely?

He looked up at the creak of the door to see Lynley enter the room with a confident step. 

“You sent for me, Superintendent?” he asked, dark brows raised inquisitively. 

Webberly gave a brisk nod. He was grateful for the distraction. “Yes, Detective. I’ve an important case for you and Sergeant Havers.”

Lynley smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Well, you won’t be glad for very damn long. Drink?”

“Please. Should I be worried?”

Webberly stubbed out his cigar butt, then turned to open the liquor cabinet. His lips twitched. He was looking forward to this.

“Only of Sergeant Havers’ reaction,” he told Lynley, handing him a glass of scotch, enticing amber liquid catching the light. His smirk stretched into a grin at Lynley’s expression.

The door creaked again and Havers, soaked and scowling, strode into the room. Lynley gave her a wide smile, eyes crinkling. “Forget to bring an umbrella, Sergeant?” he asked her. Havers scowled and ignored him with impressive determination. 

“Sergeant,” Webberly greeted, a chuckle strangling his voice. She looked like a half-drowned kitten, bristling and ridiculous.

“Superintendent.” She said the word like an expletive.

“Take a seat, both of you. A drink, Havers?”

“Tonic water, please,” said Havers, teeth gritted in what he presumed was a combination of being cold and being angry.

"Harriman!” he called. His secretary poked her coiffed blonde head into his office.

“Yes, Superintendent?”

“Find a tonic water for Sergeant Havers, would you?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t have the foggiest notion of where to find a tonic water, Superintendent,” Harriman replied sweetly.

“I don’t care. Just find one, for God’s sake!” Webberly ordered.

“I’ll do my best, Superintendent,” she replied with a sunny, superficial smile, and a wink at Lynley as she withdrew. 

Webberly rolled his eyes. “That woman is a terrible secretary,” he informed the two detectives. Lynley smiled and Havers scowled.

Webberly coughed. “Right. The point. You’ve heard about the Thrushcross murders, I take it?”

“Of course,” said Lynley. “Three people murdered at the couples resort in Devon. I hardly see how it’s bad news if you’ve decided to put us on the case.”

“That’s not the bad news. The bad news is that you’re going undercover. As a couple.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which much banter ensues.

Barbara shut the door to Webberly's office behind her with too much force, then rounded on Lynley.

“Did you know about this?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “No, of course not.” His expression was serious, but she could tell he was struggling not to smile.

“It’s not funny, sir! We’ll be the laughing stock of the force.”

“Are you truly so ashamed of our relationship, Hav-“

“Sir.”

“I apologise. Are you truly so ashamed of our relationship, Lady Barba-“

“Sir!”

“Come on, admit it. It’s a little amusing.”

“It’s ridiculous, is what it is. Me, a bloody Lady! What the hell was Webberly thinkin’?”

“Well, he does know as well as I do that you’ve always wanted to be a member of the titled gentry.”

A year ago she would have lost her temper, heard an insult in his teasing. She knew better now. She rolled her eyes, feeling a smile threatening to curve her mouth. “Right, yeah. Hilarious, sir.”

The sound of a door opening made Barbara turn around. Dorothea stepped into the corridor, smiling at her.

“Sergeant. Good. I wanted to catch you before you left. I thought I could lend you a hand with your disguise. You’ll need some new clothes if you’re going undercover as the charming and fashionable Lady Gray.” Barbara heard the undercurrent of irony in her tone and scowled. She looked at Dorothea’s fuchsia dress. She could only bear to look at it for a couple of seconds. It was terrifying, a tutu from hell.

“I can manage on my own, thanks all the same,” she said.

“Nonsense! I’d love to help. We’ll go tomorrow afternoon,” Dorothea replied with a beatific grin, giving Haver’s cheek a patronising pat before flouncing away down the corridor.

There was silence, until Barbara, frozen with horror, jumped at the sound of Lynley’s voice. “I, for one, think you’d look stunning in that shade of pink.”

Barbara glared. “Let’s go, sir. My show starts in half an hour.”

“By all means, then. Is that the one in which women can singlehandedly stop serial killers by removing their clothing?” They started walking in the direction of the car park.

“Shut up, sir.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, then Lynley said, “You do realise that while we’re on this job you’ll have to call me by my name? I’d hate to think of the scandal you’d cause if you were to call your husband ‘sir’.” 

Barbara felt her cheeks heat and frowned to compensate. Lynley glanced at her and smirked.

“Why, Havers, I’m shocked! I never took you for a deviant.”

“Sir!” she spluttered.

“Don’t worry, Havers. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.  Truly, though. You will need to start calling me ‘Tommy’ at some stage.” The very idea of calling him ‘Tommy’ made her insides curl with awkwardness.

“It’s not so very terrible, surely? I was under the impression we were friends.”

“That’s emotional manipulation, sir,” she said. He waited.

Okay, fine!” she snapped. He looked at her expectantly.

“Fine. Tommy.” She cringed as she said it. A wide smile stretched his mouth and he looked at her with laughing eyes. Her stomach clenched and something stuttered in her chest.

“See, that wasn’t so difficult. I’ll get you to call me ‘Lord Asherton’, too, soon enough.”

“Don’t push it, sir.”


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lynley is a terrible driver.

Lynley tapped his right hand again and again against the steering wheel.

They were due to check into Thrushcross Couples Therapy Resort at ten o’clock. It was eight o’clock, and he knew the drive would take at least three hours. He shot yet another impatient glance at Havers’ door.

“I’m gettin’ ready, sir!” she’d called out when he’d rung the bell twenty minutes ago. Damn and blast the woman. He knew she had the requisite clothes. Harriman had taken her shopping, so she could hardly claim that as an excuse.

He felt a smile twitch his mouth when he recalled their conversation yesterday. He loved teasing Havers. She was easy to provoke, and the way her face flushed and her eyes flashed was wonderfully rewarding.

But he had to acknowledge to himself that he wasn’t entirely blasé about this case. Three resort residents murdered. Their undercover roles were potentially setting them up as victims. He wasn’t concerned for himself. Havers, however …

He could admit that she roused his protective instincts. He knew she was entirely capable of taking care of herself. She was an excellent shot and better at hand-to-hand combat than he was. But she could be heartbreakingly vulnerable, however much she tried to hide it behind anger and brutal cynicism, and she had an alarming habit of recklessly risking her life.

A movement in his peripheral vision raised his head. Finally. Havers’ door opened and a pretty young woman in a stylish green dress walked out.

With a jolt, Lynley realised it was Havers. He stared as she walked towards the Bristol. His chest was tight and he felt strange and breathless. He was still staring when she opened the passenger door.

“Morning, sir,” she said, climbing into the car. Lynley was suddenly acutely conscious of his lungs. Were his breaths ordinarily so shallow? He realised he hadn’t replied when she glanced at him, confused. Her eyes were large and very green.

“Sir?”

“Ah. Sorry, Havers. I was quite distracted. Didn’t sleep a wink last night. Not at my brightest. Evidently. Um. Good morning.” Good Lord, he never stuttered.

She continued to stare at him, expression nearing concern. He stared back. A moment passed in strained silence.  

“Should we head off, sir?”

“Pardon? Yes! Yes.” Alarmingly aware of his movements and her presence beside him, he put the car into gear, too fast, and reversed, too fast.

“It’s bad form for a police officer to kill someone by reckless driving, sir.” Her teasing grounded him, and he exhaled his relief. Whatever his reaction had been, he decided, was a temporary aberration.

“Your humour is first-rate this morning, Havers. How delightful.” She smirked at him and he determinedly ignored the flutter this provoked in the region of his chest.

“I was goin’ over the case notes last night, sir.

“How diligent of you, Detective Sergeant.”

“Are you saying you didn’t, sir?”

“Of course I did. I’m well known for my diligence, however.” She laughed, face lighting up, and the car veered sharply to the left. Cursing, Lynley straightened the wheel and tore his eyes away from Havers.

She always looked pretty when she smiled, but now, dressed like she was, looking like she did, it was like a punch to the stomach.

“Are you alright?” she asked. “You seem distracted.” He refused to allow himself to look at her.

“I’m fine, Havers. Perfectly fine. Please do continue. You were perusing the case notes? I presume you noticed something?"

"Yes, sir. The killer's MO. He shoved a pressed rose down the throat of each victim, which made me think it was revenge, for, I dunno, a broken heart or something. Jilted love, maybe."

"I'd reached the same conclusion."

"And the first two victims fit a pattern: tall, attractive brunettes."

"Yes."

"But, sir, the last victim was a man."

"Perhaps the killer's interested in men as well as women."

"Yeah, that could be it. Except the man was past middle age and balding. And, okay, that doesn't rule him out as a lover, but it seems bloody unlikely to me."

"I agree, but what other motive could there be? The very fact the victims were killed at a couples therapy resort seems to indicate heartbreak or jilted love, or simply a relationship falling apart."

"It doesn't make any sense, sir."

"No," Lynley agreed. He was uncomfortably aware that he was relieved to be discussing the case. It was a welcome distraction. 

"Well, Havers," he said, "I suppose we shall have to do our job and find out."

 


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which are featured a creepy portrait, a polite concierge, and Lynley in a towel.

Thrushcross Couples Therapy Resort was ridiculously poncey: an old-fashioned beachside mansion converted into luxury accommodation. Barbara grimaced. First they dressed her up like a clown, and now she was going to be surrounded by arrogant ponces for God knew how long, while pretending to be one of them.

Her shoes sunk into the thick red carpet which covered the floor of the lobby. Marble walls and chandeliers and brown leather chairs abounded. The air smelled expensive. She tried to quash her rising anxiety; places like this always made her feel out of place. Behind the tall marble desk, a concierge smiled a polished smile at them.

“Good afternoon, sir and madam. Are you checking in today?”

“Yes, thank you. We have a booking. I’m Lord Forster and this is my wife, Lady Barbara Forster,” said Lynley.

Barbara tried to keep her face politely expressionless. She suspected she was failing, so she looked around her as the concierge tapped something into a keyboard concealed by the desk. There was a large painting of a dark-haired woman on the wall to her left. Its dark tones and gilt-frame made it look like something from a horror film.

“That’s Mathilda Thrushcross,” the concierge told her, when she turned to face him again. “She founded the resort, let’s see, must have been nine or ten years ago now.”

“Does she live in Devon?” Barbara asked, in her best top-drawer accent. Beside her, Lynley gave a light cough, covering a laugh.  

“No, unfortunately,” the concierge replied. “She passed away a year ago. Tragic boating accident.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Barbara said. She exchanged a glance with Lynley.

“Yes, well. We work hard to make sure this place remains a haven for couples. It’s what she’d have wanted.” He handed Lynley their room key.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here,” he said. “Please don’t hesitate to let us know if there's anything you need."

Like anything could make their time here more bearable, Barbara thought. Lynley thanked him and together they headed towards the lifts.

“Bit suspicious, isn’t it, sir? Mathilda Thrushcross dies nine months before the first victim’s murdered?” she said, when they were alone in the elevator.

“It certainly is.” Lynley wasn’t quite looking at her when he replied. He’d been acting oddly all day. She looked ridiculous in this get-up, she knew. Perhaps he was embarrassed for her.  

“I’ll be glad to take this dress off,” she told him. His head snapped up and he stared at her, eyes wide.

Confused, she said, “I feel ridiculous. Not to mention cold.”

“Ah. Of course. Well, we have nothing to do for the rest of today, so we may as well attempt to settle in. We have our first group counseling session tomorrow, which should prove interesting.”

“Yeah, can't wait,” Barbara said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“It will, I hope, be an excellent opportunity to garner information.” Lynley said as he opened the door to their suite. Barbara looked into the room and gaped. 

“This is so out of my league,” she breathed.

“Don’t be silly,” Lynley said, smiling at her. “You’re Lady Barbara Forster.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right, sir.”

 

* * *

 

Barbara read through the case notes for what felt like the thousandth time. Lynley was taking a shower; she'd needed something to do, and looking again at the case notes had seemed a good idea. Now she was irritated at herself. She had to be missing something. It made no sense. Why would the killer murder two beautiful women—possibly three, if she included Mathilda Thrushcross—and then Steven Mason, an unattractive, balding, middle-aged man? Unless Mason had known something? It was like trying to solve a puzzle with only a few of the pieces. She needed more information. 

Frustrated, she stared out of the window. The view was beautiful, the colours of the beach and the sky brisk and bright and breathtaking. She heard the sound of running water stop and the door to the bathroom open behind her. 

“Come on, Havers. The resort’s not entirely awful, surely?” Lynley said.

“The view’s nice,” she admitted, turning, then freezing. Lynley was wearing a towel and nothing else, water trickling down his bare chest. She felt her face heat and hastily averted her eyes.

“Um. The view from the window,” she clarified. “Er. Right, um. I think I’ll take a shower, if you’re done, sir?”

“Yes, bathroom’s all yours,” he said with a smile. She cleared her throat, waiting until he moved away from the bathroom door so she wouldn’t have to brush up against him when she entered. The thought made her blush harder.

“We can determine sleeping arrangements when you’re finished,” Lynley said, before she shut the door.

Of course, there was only one bed. Wasn’t that just bloody fantastic. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and left kudos on this fic! You're all lovely. <3


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lord Tommy and Lady Barbara attend a couples' counselling class.

Lynley glanced up at the portrait of Mathilda Thrushcross as he and Havers passed beneath it. For an instant, he could have sworn the woman’s painted eyes moved. A thrill of alarm shivered through him.

“You okay, sir?” Havers asked.

“I thought for a second … But no. Never mind. I’m simply overtired.”

“You should’ve let me take the couch, sir.”

“What sort of gentleman would allow his lady wife to sink to such plebeian depths?”

Havers rolled her eyes, lips twitching. She was wearing a fitted violet dress today and he was determinedly not noticing how well it suited her.

“I dunno, sir. One who argues with her constantly and has had several affairs with random women?”

“My dear Lady Forster, the very fact that I have arranged a holiday at this prestigious resort and am, at this very minute, escorting you to a couples’ counselling class, surely implies that I am at least attempting to rectify our fractured relationship?”

Havers laughed and Lynley attempted not to stare at her as they turned down a corridor lined with doors.

“D’you know which room it is, sir?” Havers asked.

“Last door on the right, I believe. Number 12,” he said, and spotted it at precisely that moment.

Lynley pulled open the door, the metal handle cold beneath his skin, and held it open for Havers before following her inside.

Comfortable sofas were arranged around the room and a cheese platter was laid out on a central table. Soft music played soothingly in the background. It all seemed orchestrated to create a relaxed atmosphere conducive to discussion.

“You must be Lord and Lady Forster!” said a voice from behind Lynley. He and Havers turned.

The man who had addressed them looked like a stereotype from a classic romance novel: Mr Darcy, perhaps, or Heathcliff. He gave Lynley a cool smile, then turned to smile more warmly, too warmly, at Havers. Lynley attempted to ignore the prickle of jealousy this provoked.

“Delighted to meet you,” the man said, still looking at Havers. “I’m David.”

“What a pleasure,” Lynley said, not bothering to conceal the undercurrent of sarcasm in his tone.  

“Nice to meet you,” said Havers, more sincerely, and smiled at him in a way that looked far too genuine for Lynley’s liking.

David continued to stare at Havers, his gaze softening, a slight smile curling his lips.

The prickling jealously in Lynley’s chest grew. He cleared his throat pointedly. David started and shook his head as though to clear it.

“Please, take a seat,” David said, finally turning to look at Lynley. “Everyone else should be here soon.”

Lynley chose the couch with the best vantage point from which to observe the other guests. He and Havers sat, while David went out into the corridor again, presumably to keep an eye out for the other couples.  No. Not the _other_ couples. He and Havers were not romantically entangled, for goodness’ sake.

“I suppose we should act friendly so the other guests will talk to us, sir,” Havers whispered to him. She didn’t look happy about it.

He nearly made a quip about him never having taken her to be one for schmoozing. Instead, he said quietly into her ear, “That’s easy for you to say. All you need to do is smile at them and they’ll be utterly charmed.”

She turned to give him a wide-eyed look, her cheeks pink. Their faces were mere inches apart, he realised. He turned quickly to examine the couch opposite. What delightful upholstery.

The sound of loudening chatter made them both look towards the door. Four people entered, and proceeded to smile polite smiles and recite salutations at Lynley and Havers. David entered behind them and closed the door.

He turned and smiled and said, “Welcome, everyone. Please find a seat and we’ll make a start.”

Lynley discretely observed the other residents. A slim woman, who looked to be in her forties, with gold-blonde hair and eyes so intensely blue they looked scalding, sat beside an elegant man with grey hair. They sat as far apart as the sofa allowed and did not speak to one another.

On the other couch, a girl in a scarlet dress sat close to a man in a black suit. They talked to one another, and smiled too frequently: all laughter on the surface and venom underneath.

“Well,” David said. “Shall we introduce ourselves? Mr and Mrs O’Sullivan, why don’t you start us off?” He turned an expectant look on the golden-haired woman and the grey-haired man.

* * *

 

Lynley lowered himself into the armchair in their suite, his notebook clasped in his right hand, and looked over at Havers in amusement.

She’d thrown a ridiculously large jumper over her dress, and was sitting on the sofa, case notes and paper spread out around her. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. He felt an unexpected rush of affection for her, and sighed.

“Any epiphanies?” he asked. He opened his notebook, and flipped through the pages to the most recent.

“None,” she said, voice taut with frustration. “I’ve been investigating the other guests, but I haven’t found anything suspicious. Although apparently Mrs O’Sullivan was arrested for shoplifting a few years ago. Don’t see how that’s particularly relevant, though.” She paused. “And another thing, sir. I could’ve sworn that David bloke was flirtin’ with me.”

Lynley struggled not to scowl. “I believe he was, yes. Your point, Havers?”

“Well, it just seems a bit odd, doesn’t it? He’s a couples' counsellor and he flirts with a married woman at one of his sessions?”

“Now you mention it, that is rather odd.” He’d been too distracted to notice, he admitted to himself. “Not an entirely ineffective technique, however. He flirts with the wife to make the husband jealous. The husband realises how much he values his wife. _Et voici_ , relationship mended.”

With a jolt, he realised what he’d said. _Damn and blast it all._ He feigned absorption in his notes.

“Yeah, I doubt it’s that simple, sir.”

They sat in heavy silence for a moment. Lynley turned a page with a careful hand. He hadn’t read a single word.

“And why me of all people?” Havers added abruptly. “I mean, there were two other women there, and both of them were attractive.”

He stared at her in disbelief.

“Permit me to clarify,” he said, enunciating each word. “You’re surprised that this David fellow flirted with you, because you think you’re _less_ attractive than those other women?”

Havers cheeks turned red and she couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m not fishin’ for compliments or anything. Just pointing out the facts, sir.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and no doubt to say something he would regret, when three sharp knocks on the door made him pause.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the delay in updating! Rest assured I haven't given up this story - I'm having far too much fun writing it to do that. ;) A massive thank you to all you wonderful people who have left kudos and reviews!


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